


miles beyond

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Breakfast in Bed, Breaking the Bed, First Kiss, Gay Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Music, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Singing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: “It’s not fair!” he whines. “You don’t even likeI Bluegrass!” It’s true. Peter has watched him wince at every twange of a banjo, every hound dog croon.Bucky’s eyes don’t leave the road but he grins, feral, biting, predatory, and says, “You hate it more than me, which means it’s fucking angel singing in my ears.”





	miles beyond

The best thing about a Tony Stark car, (aside from it being ya know, Tony Stark’s car,) is the  _ music selection. _ Peter isn’t sure how he got stuck on recon with James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier,  _ Captain America’s Best Friend _ , but he’s okay with it. Except - “Seriously?” 

Bucky swats his hand as hard as he can and Peter hisses. 

“It’s not fair!” he whines. “You don’t even  _ like  _ Bluegrass!” It’s true. Peter has watched him wince at every twange of a banjo, every hound dog croon. 

Bucky’s eyes don’t leave the road but he grins, feral, biting, predatory, and says, “You hate it more than me, which means it’s fucking angel singing in my ears.” 

Peter slumps down into his seat, watching the bruise fade from his hand. The thing is, he knows  _ exactly _ why Tony paired him up with Bucky. All he can hope is that Bucky doesn’t know. 

“Besides,” Bucky says a few minutes later, “and I really do hate to break this to you, but” he waves metal fingers at the window, the miles and miles of dust flatland and barren fields, “you ain’t gonna find much else on the stations out here.” 

Peter narrows his eyes. It’s a damn lie and Bucky’s lazy smirk says he knows it. “I gotta pee,” Peter announces. He rests his forehead against the glass because he already knows what Bucky’s gonna say. 

“There’s a bottle in the back,” Bucky says two heartbeasts later. 

Peter swivels his head and looks at Bucky blandly. “Buckoroni. We haven’t stopped since the  _ last gas station _ . That was six hours and two states over. I need to pee, in a real toilet, with an actual flusher and like, toilet paper.” 

Bucky shrugs and swerves, tires skidding over grass, dust flying behind him. Bucky and reaches behind him, chucking overly-soft two-ply at Peter’s head. “There’s also a bush.” 

Peter glares, squares up his shoulders and tries as best he can, to make his eighteen years look intimidating to a literal assassin. 

It works as well as expected and Peter climbs out of the car grumbling, slams it behind him hard enough that the frame creaks. Tony’s going to flip.

-

Bucky’s asleep in the back seat, bent in a way that cannot be comfortable but that does not seem to bother him at all. Peter’s got one hand on the wheel, the other screwing the lid off a Monster Water. He flicks a gaze in the review and he tries not to smile softly at the tiny lines around Bucky’s eyes. Even in sleep, he looks stern, but there’s less… 

Less something. Peter turns the radio down, and he knows he’s going slow, but with the window rolled down and the mountain air tugging his curls and the night singing lazily, he can’t be bothered to rush towards another Big Bad. Another fight that’ll leave at least one of them broken and bloody and the world… not safer, not exactly. Just delaying what will one day happen, no matter how many times they drive across the country or fly into outer space. 

It’s nice though, watching Bucky. He twitches in his sleep, when the car hits rough road, his fingers grip the air. If Peter swerves just right, his hips shift. 

It’s a dirty trick, but Peter’s bored and the roads are empty. 

The gas light comes on and Peter sighs. Bucky can’t’ve slept more than an hour a handful of hours. Still, even Tony’s enhanced engines can’t run forever. He pulls into the first gas station he sees, watches Bucky stumble back into the world of the awake, wiping his hand across his mouth, his eyes, and grimacing as he tries to untangle his back. “Why we stoppin’?”

Peter snorts, doesn’t answer as he climbs out and stalks inside to pay for snacks. Bucky’ll figure it out, and pump the gas. 

It’s not that Peter’s ashamed or anything, but honestly? Sometimes the Avengers forget that he was a poor kid from Queens, who rode the bus and the subway.

Bucky might’ve taught him which petal accelerated, but Peter can’t find the gas cap half the time and he’s afraid to touch any of the settings. 

_ Besides _ , he thinks as he walks out, arms loaded with energy drinks, candy, and dried meat,  _ only Bucky Barnes could make pumping gas look sexy. _

And he does, jeans slung too low on his hips and arm flexing. 

“Where the hell is your shirt,” Peter demands. 

Bucky blinks at him, and the ridiculous amount of trash in Peter’s arms. “Got gas on it.”

“How?”

Bucky shrugs. “There’s a diner two miles up the road and a motel close to that,” he says instead. 

And yeah, ok. Peter could use a shower and sheets and like, dinner that doesn’t come off the rack. 

“I’ll get you another shirt,” Peter grumbles and stalks back inside. 

-

The diner is… 

Peter blinks, squinting at the bright lights. “The hell is this place?” He asks.

“Language,” Bucky sighs. “Tony  _ and _ Steve’ll fuckin’ murder me if I bring your back swearing.” 

“Aunt May too,” Peter grins. 

The diner has a stage. A rickety, wooden thing with red velvet curtains and  _ dancers _ . Peter Parker, who moonlights as Spiderman, is currently dipping a sloppy joe in chilli and watching a woman in slinky purple dress sway to  _ Cabaret _ . 

What’s even more confusing is Peter can hear Bucky humming the song under his breath, and he can feel the boards under his feet shifting under Bucky’s heavy boots. 

Bucky doesn’t even seem aware he’s doing it as he picks at his burger and fries. He forgets himself though, when a man steps on and sings about being a rich man.

It’s  _ beautiful _ , watching Bucky lose himself in what Peter finds to be a ridiculous song, but the older man shuts his eyes, leans back, and belts it out like he’s some poor farmer. 

The song ends and Peter’s half sure he’s drooling. Bucky flushes when he opens his eyes and catches Peter staring, but Peter can’t stop. 

“Girls like theater,” is Bucky’s explanation and Peter laughs. “Sure,  _ girls _ .” 

Bucky shoves his head and drops too much cash on the table. “C’mon kid, let’s get some sleep.” 

-

The motel is shitty and creaky, but the beds are clean and soft and the water hot. Peter can’t help it. He plugs up his phone and sings. “ And I don't think we can solve 'em, you made a really deep cut, and, baby, now we've got bad blood, hey! -” 

He screeches at the top of his lungs when the shower curtain flies open and Bucky is staring at him with daggers. 

Like, he’s actually holding fucking knives between his fingers. “Shut the hell up, Parker. Some of us want to sleep.” 

Peter narrows his eyes, soap dripping down his nose and hands on his shoulders because  _ panic _ . “So go to sleep?” 

“I can’t with you caterwauling in here,” Bucky snarls. Peter flushes. In the diner, Bucky’s voice had been deep and smooth and delightful. Peter knows he won’t ever be a baritone, but he also knows he’s not half-bad. “Rude,” he mutters, but he quits singing. 

“Also, the bed by the window is broken,” Bucky says on the way out. 

Peter blinks at his back, confused. He finishes showering and slips on a pair of Stark Industries boxers and steps outside. 

“That was not broken when we got here,” Peter announces, looking at the cracked headboard and the busted frame. 

“Sure it was,” Bucky answers from under the covers. 

“Where ‘m I supposed to sleep?” Peter cries. 

Bucky waves vaguely at the otherside. 

A glance at the clock says it is 2 in the fucking morning and Peter is  _ exhausted _ and he has no energy to argue. He stands and stares at the lump in the bed, and sometimes he forgets how big Bucky is but right now, in that single, he’s thinking he never really knew.

Bucky huffs and reaches behind him to lift the covers and Peter shuffles forward. It’s a very snug fit, back to back, but the room is cold and Bucky is warm and Peter  _ exhausted. _

In the morning, Peter wakes up to a heavy metal arm draped across his hips and a problem he hasn’t woken up with in  _ months.  _

Bucky snores against his neck and Peter manages to shuffle out from under that arm, out of that warm embrace and into the bathroom somewhat successfully. 

He blares Taylor Swift as loud as he can, singing about white horses just to be The Worst. 

Bucky gets his revenge by flushing the toilet halfway through  _ The Last Time  _ and Peter definitely shrieks when the water goes ice.

-

Peter thinks that perhaps one of the worst things about growing up in New York freaking City, (aside from the rats and subways and constant tourism…. And aliens and stuff), is that everyone assumes Broadway is a daily part of  _ everyone’s life _ . Peter was supposed to go see the Wizard of Oz once on a school trip, but he came down with a nasty case of chickenpox. And honestly? He wasn’t disappointed. 

Like, cultural enrichment and the arts and yada yada, but a bunch of folks in costume  _ singing  _ a story instead of just… telling it? A little too disney for him. 

Until he hears Bucky singing  _ The Sex is in the Heels _ , all smokey and sultry and then… Peter didn’t know Bucky could do  _ voices. _ He also doesn’t know how much longer he can pretend to be asleep in the backseat of this car. How bucky folds his larger frame back here enough to sleep. Peter peaks an eye open and Bucky isn’t paying attention to the miles of empty road, hands pounding on the steering wheel and whole body jerking with the music. 

Peter has a problem, and at least 100 miles before he can even think about handling it. The car lurches, and Peter uses it as a chance to make a show of waking up. “Turn that shit off,” he grumbles, sitting up and trying to stretch the kinks out of his back. 

Bucky snorts, turns it up, and screams at the top of his lungs. Long hair falls lose around his face and he shakes it out and  _ Christ _ , but Peter really needs to not be in this car right now. Bucky smirks at him in the rearview. 

“There’s a motel a few exits up,” Bucky tells him. 

Peter sighs. “Fine.” 

-

Bucky doesn’t stop singing. He makes his way through all of Kinky Boots and Peter decides he needs to see it, and then he starts on Les Miserable. Peter is crying, though his laughter, when Bucky tries to sing anything given to Eponine. 

“Stop, please! My ears are bleeding!!!” Peter snorts. 

Bucky grins at him as gravel spits under the wheels and they pull into a shitty looking motel. Peter sighs heavily, which earns him a curious look. 

“Can’t we use a little of the emergency money to sleep on beds that aren’t full of ghosts and sex?”

Bucky blinks at him, a little owlish despite the beard and the hair and the… overall attractive thing. Stupid pink lips all spit shiney and singing swollen. “Ghost and sex?” 

Peter shrugs, nose wrinkling. “People die at places like this. And you can’t entirely clean death out of sheets,” he shrugs. 

Bucky squints at him. Hard and judgey, “aaso the kids really are morbid these days.”

“Says the guy who jaunted off to war for shits and giggles,” Peter says under his breath. Bucky slams the door a little harder and Peter winces. Tony is going to really fucking murder them. 

But they find their way to the lucky number 5, and there are two very nice beds. Peter stares at Bucky as he throws his back onto the one by the window. “I’m going to shower. Don’t touch that bed.” 

Bucky shrugs, and Peter storms off to the shower, skin tight and full of irritation for reasons he can’t exactly quantify. He screams along about dragons and foxes with Taylor and when he gets out, he almost feels alright. 

And then he walks out, towel around his waist to see Bucky in  _ his _ bed. The other one is flipped over, mattress slit down the middle. 

Bucky leans on an elbow and dicks around with his phone. “Checkin’ for corpses” he says before Peter can even ask. 

“Didn’t want to check that one?” he grouses. 

Bucky leers at him. “Didn’t feel any lumps so it didn’t really warrant a slice through.”

“You hate me,” Peter groans, but he flips onto the mattress, shoving Bucky into the wall and worming his way under the sheets. “By the way, we need a laundry mat.” He inhales, ready to sleep, and winces. “And you need a shower.” 

Bucky doesn’t argue as he climbs over Peter. Literally, climbs over him, pausing with his knees on either side of Peter’s hips to strip his shirt off, before smoothly sauntering to the bathroom. Peter falls asleep to a strangely dark rendition of  _ Over the Rainbow _ . 

He wakes up, Bucky curled around him again, metal arm curled up his chest. Fleshy fingers tangled in Peter’s curls. Peter isn’t sure when he turned over, buried his nose in the dark hairs on Bucky’s chest, but he keeps his eyes closed and his breath even, enjoying the warmth. 

Bucky’s hand twitches sometime later, and Peter stirs, not sure when he’d started drifting off. 

Bucky gets up first, quietly heads to the bathroom and Peter twist into the warm spot left behind, until a wet towel smacks him in the face. “Time to go,” Bucky says.

-

Peter gets to drive, because Bucky’s particularly grumpy today, and he keeps the radio off. Right now, he figures they’re somewhere in Utah. “If this is a bust, can we go home?” Peter asks quietly. Because so far, none of their leads had panned out. All empty barns and burned down shacks and bloated corpses. 

Bucky eyes him warily. “You don’t like roadtrippin’?”

Truth be told, Peter loves them. Open road, shitty food, music blaring as sandy air screams through the window. But they’re only really fun with the right partner, and a destination that doesn’t just lead to another empty lot. 

He doesn’t explain this to Bucky. 

He also doesn’t explain the complicated thing his heart does when Bucky stretches an arm behind  _ Peter’s _ arm rest, and he can smell the cheap motel soap, the miles since the last stop wafting off him. “Just seems like a waste to have you and I out here, when we aren’t finding anything.”

Bucky shrugs. “I dunno, I like the break.”

Peter chews his cheek, thinking. It’s true. They’ve not been in one fight, not had anyone after their lives. And the towns they stop in are the kind of small that doesn’t really blink at an ex enemy of the state or a kid in spandex. 

“I do miss Aunt May’s brownies,” Peter says. “But it’s nice to see the stars.”

And easy to forget he’s been up there, has practically touched those gassy light orbs. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” Peter blurts. 

Bucky rolls his head on the head rest to stare at him, blue eyes dusky and tired, but relaxed. “Why did Tony send you with me?” He guesses. 

Peter nods. 

“Probably ‘cause I asked him to,” Bucky says casually. Then he throws both hands out to catch himself as Peter slams on the breaks and the car fishtails into tall grass. “The fuck!?”

“You  _ asked _ for me?” Peter demands incredulously. 

Bucky looks at Peter like he’s questioning his sanity. “Yeah?”

“Why?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. He looks at Peter, really looks in a way that makes the younger male shudder. “C’mon kid, you’re smart enough to figure it out.” He leans into Peter’s space, breaths his air, and it makes it hard to  _ think _ .

“Is there even intel out here?” Peter asks. 

Bucky leans back, frowning. 

“No, seriously,” Peter says, getting worked up. “Have I wasted my whole summer chasing a goose just because, because,” he stalls, not sure what follows “because.” 

“You really don’t know,” Bucky says. His eyes are wide, astonished, and he smacks his head against the window, muttering under his breath. “Tell me something, Peter,” Bucky says. “Why’d  _ Tony _ say you were picked to partner with me?” 

“Training,” Peter says, putting as much “duh” in his voice as he can. “I don’t exactly have the same sleuthing and stalking skills some of the rest of you grew up with. So he thought it might be a good idea.” 

Bucky nods. “And that’s it. You think it’s as simple as that. No other way to teach you recon skills except to traipse across the country shackin’ up in shitty hotels and eating greasy diner food and being musically educated.”

Peter lifts a shoulder. 

Bucky turns away from him, a full body, toddler’s pout, and says, “I’m getting tired. Stop at the next motel.” 

Peter frowns, confused. He’s not sure why, but he feels like he’s done something really wrong. “Should we get food first?” 

Bucky grunts at him.

-

Peter stops at a burger place and gets them too much food to go. Bucky’s still staring out the window, eyes half-lidded. Peter handles getting them a room, but when they open it, he stops in the doorway. Bucky bumps into him, then shoves past. 

“Peter,” he says slowly. “There’s a problem.” 

“I know,” Peter hisses. “They only had one room though, and I though…” 

Bucky steps around him, back outside, and stares at the sign. “Hey Peter, you ever watch a show you shouldn’t have?”

Peter flushes, “Huh?” 

“You know, the one with hotels that are paid for by the hour?” 

“It saves money?” Peter says weakly. 

Bucky snorts. “And you’re worried about  _ ghosts _ in your sheets.” But he saunters in, already kicking off his boots and heading towards the bathroom. 

“At least I don’t have to break anything this time,” Bucky says casually. 

Peter stares at his back, then at the single bed, large and gross and  _ panics _ . 

-

Bucky exits the shower and stares. Sheets and feathers and bits of wood and metal have exploded in the center of the room. “Peter?” He says slowly. There’s a low huff from the corner of the room and Bucky glances up. Peter’s webbed himself into a corner, hiding as much as he can in the tiny room. “What happened to the bed?” 

Peter shrugs. “Revenge?” 

Bucky snorts. “Works a little better if you don’t second guess yourself,” Bucky tells him. “But we have a problem?”

“Yeah?”   
“Where the hell are we going to sleep now?” Bucky groans. 

Peter laughs. “And here I thought it was about how we were going to pay for this mess.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Tony’s got enough money to cover a few beds.”

“Wait, if Tony is funding this whole trip,” Peter says slowly. 

Bucky waits, then prompts, “Yeah?” 

“Then why the hell are we living off gas station and diner meals and sleeping in roach infested buildings?   
Bucky opens his mouth the closes it, and while Peter enjoys the flush pulling under his collar, he says, “Oh my god. You’re so used to this it never crossed your mind that we have  _ Tony Stark’s  _ credit cards to enjoy?” 

He untangles himself from his hide away and grabs Bucky’s hand. “C’mon Buck! Let’s be rich for an evening!” 

-

It takes them two hours to find a ritzy hotel. One with golden detailing and too many pillars and fairy light spilling onto the lawn. Peter’s a million percent sure the receptionist is going to kick them out, but then Bucky slides the sleek black credit card across the counter and even though her nose is still crinkled, she gives them a suite she calls the “Pegasus.” 

Peter doesn’t know why they call it that, and Bucky doesn’t seem to know why either. 

But they make it to a room with carpets three inches thick and a bed with a  _ canopy. _ They both glance down at their dusty boots, then at the cream carpeting. Bucky toes his off, then the socks with holes in the toes. He rolls his jeans up and saunters in and the  _ sigh _ he gives when his feet hit that carpet go all the way down Peter’s spine. 

Peter rips his own shoes off then runs and throws himself onto the bed. “Oh my god, “ he moans. “I am never leaving this bed.” 

Bucky laughs and sits beside him. He leans back and goes limp. “Damn,” he says. 

“Damn,” Peter repeats. 

They don’t mean to, but they fall asleep atop the sheets. They wake up, curled into each other, and Peter blinks. “Your breath reeks,” Peter announces. 

Bucky grins at him, slow and vicious. “Does it?” He asks innocently. 

Peter grimaces. “Enhanced senses,” he reminds Bucky.

Bucky shrugs and leans in closer. “Hungry?” he whispers in Peter’s ear and honestly? Peter’s not nearly as ashamed as he should be at the full body shiver. 

“You’re heavy,” Peter says in lieu of answer. Bucky snorts and shifts, pressing himself over Peter. 

“Says the kid who stopped my fist like it was nothing.”

Which, true. “So,” Peter says. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This ain’t a romcom kid,” he says as he leans down and presses a kiss to Peter’s lips. It’s a soft thing, ticklish because of the beard, but gentle. He tastes like morning and dried meat and it’s freaking perfect. Peter licks against the sharp hair, the smooth lips, and he bites, gently, when Bucky’s hands skim down his sides, fingers curling under the shirt. 

As far kisses go, Peter’s had worse. 

Someone knocks on the door and it startles them both, so bad they bang foreheads. 

“Room service,” a voice calls. 

“Did you…?” Peter asks. 

Bucky flushes. “Shut up,” but he climbs off of Peter, adjusting himself in his jeans and Peter watches his ass as it saunters towards the door. He watches the silver cart even closer. Bucky lifts the lids, and there’s so. much. food. 

Bacon, eggs, belgian waffles, fruits, things Peter can’t even name. “We’re going to get sick,” Peter announces gleefully. Bucky just grins and passes the younger man a plate. 

They eat their fill, sweet and savory and too much too fast, then flop against the bed, lazily picking at fruit. 

“So did you figure it out?” Bucky asks suddenly.

“Hmm?” Peter says around a piece of melon. 

“Why us, on this trip.” Bucky says it casually, but Peter can see the tension in his shoulders. 

Peter shrugs. “You kissed me.”

Bucky says, “Yeah.” 

“That’s why.” 

Bucky groans. “Peter, words. Use them?” 

“Bucky, articles, know them?” Peter mocks. He gets up from the bed, twitchy and nervous and announces, “I’m going to check out the shower. You should get us new clothes.” 

It’s probably a little cruel, but Peter’s got this thing in his gut that makes him nervous and an urge he’s afraid to chase. 

Besides, no shower has  _ ever _ made Taylor Swift sound so good. 

-

Peter gets out of the shower and the room is empty, breakfast cleared away and Bucky gone. Peter did tell him to get clothing, but a rush of disappointment still burns through him. He stares at the clothes piled on the floor but the idea of putting them back on doesn’t sound fun. He settles into the bed, curls under the sheet and tells himself he’s just going to close his eyes for a second. 

He wakes up to Bucky softly singing a song he almost recognizes. Bucky doesn’t seem him, so Peter watches as the towel drops. There’s scars on Bucky’s back, beyond the mangled shoulder. A million pink and white marks Peter doesn’t want to know about, all delicately traced onto a tan canvas. 

“Nice ass,” Peter says. 

Bucky glances over his shoulder, and frowns. “You’re awake.” 

“You sound  _ disappointed _ ,” Peter croons. 

“You’re much less annoying when you’re asleep,” Bucky informs him. 

But Peter just grins. “You don’t think that.” 

“Don’t I?” 

“No,” Peter says, crawling out from under the sheets. Bucky eyes him, the curls leading  _ down _ . “No, I rather think you enjoy my company. That’s why you asked Tony to pair us up.” 

“Ah, the boy might actually be a prodigy!” Bucky mocks. 

It doesn’t deter Peter who knee walks across the thick comforter, grabbing at Bucky’s wrist. “You like me so much, you went out and bought us new clothes and shoes and you’re going to buy us dinner later.” 

“Later?” Bucky asks. 

Peter nods, pulling until Bucky falls into the bed. 

“Why later?” Bucky says as Peter climbs onto his hips. 

Peter grins, leans down and kisses Bucky who taste like mint and whiskey. “Now who's being dense?”

It takes Bucky two kisses and half a second to catch on, and then he’s grinning, pushing, rolling them so he can brace Peter between his forearms. “So you finally caught on?” 

Peter throws his head back, “Less bragging more…” he blushes, and tries to distract Bucky with a kiss. 

It works, because Bucky lets it. 

Bucky doesn’t linger there for long though. He presses his lips to Peter’s jaw, works his way down his neck, his chest. 

He swallows Peter down in a swift move, and somewhere far in the back of his mind, Peter thinks he should jealous of whoever Bucky perfected this on, but right now? 

Now he tangles his fingers in the long, silky hair, pulling it out of it’s stupid bun and trying to watch Bucky’s cheeks hollow. 

Bucky smiles around him as he catches Peter’s eyes, and he does this thing, a hum almost that has Peter’s hips spasming. He jerks, cries out, and tugs at Bucky’s hair. “Too much,” he pants. 

Bucky just smiles. Peter pushes anyway, “I don’t want it to end too quickly,” he admits quietly. 

Bucky presses a kiss to his thigh. “What are you afraid of, Peter?” 

Peter furrows his brows. 

“It’s okay if it’s a little quick this time,” Bucky says gently. 

Peter shakes his head, eyes suddenly teary, “No. No this has to be  _ perfect. _ We have to make it  _ last.” _

Bucky leans up on his elbows, watching the wild panic in Peter’s eyes. “Peter, why? What’s going on?” 

Peter tries to keep the trembling in his lip to a minimum. “If this is all I get with you, Bucky, a dumb road trip chasing fake intell, I want to make it last forever.” 

Bucky sits up, off of Peter. “Hey,” he says softly. “Hey you know this isn't like that, right?”

Peter eyes him sadly. “Isn’t it? You had to take me halfway across the country.”

“No, it’s not,” and now Bucky’s getting frustrated. “Look. There’s not a lot of privacy in the Tower. Or like, all of New York. And you,” Bucky chews his words. “Look how long it took you to figure out why I’d ask for a moment alone with you, Pete! This? This is just the prologue. I just… needed to figure out how to get your attention is all.” 

Peter eyes Bucky for a moment, before lurching forward to smash his lips to Bucky’s. “You’re literally the worst at wooing,” he tells him. 

But it doesn’t matter, because Bucky’s pressing his fingers into Peter’s whole. They’re surprisingly slick, and Peter raises a brow. Bucky just leers at him. “Let me show you what I can do, Peter. And you decide how long it happens.” 

-

“It’ happens for a while. Bucky keeps Peter on edge with just two fingers and his tongue for  _ hours,  _ until Peter is sweaty and writhing and he’s pretty sure the whole hallway can hear him. 

“You ready?” Bucky asks.

Peter’s been ready since he woke up to Bucky’s ass. He scrambles for the condom Bucky left on the bedside table, struggling to rip it open. Bucky’s content to watch until Peter throws it at his face and Bucky huffs a laugh, but he makes quick work of it. “Ever done this?” 

Peter smirks. “I’m not quite the blushing school boy you all think.” 

And Peter realizes he  _ likes _ that shade of jealousy on Bucky. Bucky gets revenge with a quick entrance, a slow withdraw. Peter  _ groans _ from somewhere behind his breastbone. “Christ,” he whines. 

“Just Bucky, actually.” 

Peter digs his fingers into Bucky’s back, trailing over the mountains he saw earlier. “Move,” he begs. 

Bucky does, slow, steady, mocking. “Please,” Peter whines. 

Bucky speeds up, thrust into Peter like  _ this _ is the mission. Like his life depends on it. 

Peter wraps around him, holds tight. Bucky comes first, sudden and surprising. He shakes through the whole thing, hand finding Peter’s cock and twisting. Peter comes, shuddery and whiney and full body. 

-

They lay there for a while after, bucky using some of the cloth napkins from earlier to wipe them down. They lay there, tracing the planes of each other’s skin, tasting. 

“Do we have to go back?” Peter asks at one point. 

Bucky smiles against his belly. “Tony might want his card eventually.” 

“If we go back to shitty motels he won’t even notice,” Peter rationalizes. 

“If we go back, Tony’ll give us a whole floor of the tower.” 

And yeah, that’s a pretty strong argument. “I get to drive,” Peter yawns. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but curls around him. 

“We should roadtrip more often,” Peter mumbles. 

“We will,” Bucky promises, watching Peter drift to sleep. “Miles beyond the fighting and the hero-ing, we’ll find all kinds of little hideaways, shitty hotels, cheap diners, and showtunes.”


End file.
